


Mon Démon, Mon Ange

by TheLordOfLaMancha



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Churches & Cathedrals, Creepy people in alleyways, Dark, Death, Forgiveness, Ghosts, I'm Sorry, Jehanparnasse Week 2017, M/M, Murder, prompt: haunted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 03:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12572508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha
Summary: When Montparnasse's apartment gets haunted, and he learns Jehan can see ghosts, he thinks all his problems are solved. But it's only the beginning of trouble when the ghost tells Jehan just who murdered him.Written for Jehanparnasse week 2017. Prompt: Haunted.





	Mon Démon, Mon Ange

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry in advance. This is dark. And full of Catholic guilt. When I get stuck writing, I panic and put people in churches.
> 
> Full warning, the creepy person in the alley corners a young Azelma, so if that's something you want to avoid reading, leave now.

He didn’t notice it at first. At first it was like nothing had changed, his apartment had been its usual quiet self.

But then, Montparnasse thought passively, his bedroom had seemed two or three degrees colder.

He first noticed it though when he caught the fridge opening and closing on its own. A rummage in the cupboards. But when he looked, no one was there.

He thought it odd, but well, he was in the business of unusual. That would hardly startle him.

Then he would come home and all the lights would be on.

_Did you swing by my apartment and leave the lights on?_ Montparnasse had texted Jehan, the only other person with the keys to the door.

_No… Why? :S_ Jehan had replied, and Montparnasse was puzzled.

But he wasn’t actually terrified until the pillows began flying off his couch as he was watching his favourite movie.

“What the ever loving fuck!?” he had sworn, leaping from the couch and pulling on his leather jacket. He slept at Jehan’s that night.

Jehan was curled up warm and real next to him when Montparnasse muttered into the dark, “ _Mon chou_ , how do you know your house is haunted?”

“You’d see ghosts,” Jehan muttered into his shoulder.

“You can’t _see_ ghosts,” Montparnasse said. “That’s the point.”

“Really?” Jehan sat up slightly, looking down on Montparnasse. “I can see ghosts. Can you not?”

“I’m sorry, you what?” Montparnasse asked.

“Yeah, there was a ghost in my last apartment, you know, above the flower shop?” Jehan replied. “Wonderful old woman. You know that dish with the fish and the potatoes you love so much?”

Montparnasse nodded.

“Totally her recipe. _You must fatten up that boy_ , she had said,” Jehan put on a silly old lady voice. “ _He’s all bones! What do you see in him with nothing to hold on to? Sticks and bones, and not the good kind either._ ”

Montparnasse spluttered and Jehan laughed.

“Do you think your apartment is haunted? I’ve never noticed anything before…”

“It only started recently,” Montparnasse clarified.

It was settled that they would investigate the apartment tomorrow, but when Montparnasse got called away to a job, Jehan shrugged and said he’d let himself in and poke around for a bit.

That had been a mistake.

Montparnasse came home (after a quick stop at Patron-Minette HQ to clean himself up after a scuffle) to find Jehan sitting in his armchair by the window, nursing a cup of tea and talking animatedly with the air in front of his face.

But as he turned to Montparnasse, he frowned.

“Montparnasse,” he said cooly. “We have to talk.”

The thief swallowed thickly, and went to sit on the couch.

“Not there,” Jehan said, shooing him farther down the couch. “Phillipe is sitting there.”

“ _Phillipe?_ ” Montparnasse asked.

“Yes. Your ghost.”

“ _My_ ghost?”

Jehan was instead looking at the empty space, and sighed.

“Yes, I know Phillipe, this is going to be a difficult conversation,” Jehan said, apropos to nothing.

“What will be?” Montparnasse asked, frustrated at being left in the dark.

“I know I don’t ask when it comes to what you do for a living,” Jehan began, not meeting Montparnasse’s eyes. “I assumed petty theft or maybe white collar crime. But Montparnasse, you murdered someone? You’re a murderer?”

The thief gaped like a fish. He had worked so hard to keep as little of his life from seeping into the softer one he shared with Jehan, and now he was hearing those cold words from the poet’s mouth…

“I’m _sorry_?” Montparnasse bit back.

“You murdered someone,” Jehan said. “More specifically, you murdered Phillipe. Though god knows how many others there have been…”

Montparnasse had to admit, there had been a dozen or so close calls, where he had been driven nearly to murder purely out of self defense. He didn’t _like_ killing. It was too easy. He’d helped to hide bodies before, sure, but his own hands had been clean until…

“I don’t… I didn’t…” Montparnasse stuttered.

“How many, Montparnasse?” Jehan asked coldly, the full ferocity of his gaze settled on Montparnasse.

“Jehan, I’m not…”

“How. Many.” Jehan seemed fearless, but Montparnasse could see the tremor in their hands in the ripples in their tea.

Montparnasse sighed and hung his head.

“One,” he muttered, glancing guiltily at the empty space next to him. “I suppose his name was Phillipe.”

“You didn’t even know his name?” Jehan asked, and his voice cracked.

Montparnasse ached to reach across and hold him, but he fidgeted awkwardly in his spot instead.

“There wasn’t time for that,” Montparnasse admitted. “I didn’t originally intend… I didn’t think, I just… There was an alleyway, I had promised Eponine I would follow Azelma and make sure she got home. She took a shortcut through an alley, and this creep started making moves and, _mon dieu_ , he touched her, and then I wasn’t thinking. It was quick, and before I knew it, he was on the ground and Azelma was all heels booking it down the alleyway.”

Jehan sat silently, looking into their shaking teacup. Montparnasse was impressed with their composure.

“Jehan, you must know… I would never…” Montparnasse pleaded. “I don’t _like_ killing people. It’s messy and easy, and I absolutely hate it. But he _touched_ Azelma, Jehan and I didn’t think. I’m sorry I didn’t think for a moment about the value of a man who preys on little girls. And I’ve been like Lady Macbeth, I’ve been washing my hands over and over and I never feel clean enough. I’ve been beside myself the last week.”

“Is this true Phillipe?” came Jehan’s wavering voice.

“I know that isn’t an excuse, I’ve done something absolutely abhorrent, and I understand if you don’t want…”

Montparnasse was silenced with a gentle wave of Jehan’s hand, the poet’s head turned such that they were listening to the empty air.

“I see,” Jehan whispered. “Very well then.”

The room got a little warmer.

“Do you know where the body is buried Montparnasse?” Jehan asked.

“Yes, I… I helped bury it.”

Jehan stood from the armchair and placed his mug down on the table.

“You will go and you will plant a tree on the grave,” Jehan instructed. “Then you will go to the church and so help me, you will pray for your forsaken soul until you cannot bear to be on your knees any longer, and then you will come home to me.”

“Yes,” Montparnasse agreed hastily, immediately rising to his feet and making for the door.

But at the threshold he paused.

“And Jehan,” he called. “I’m sorry.”

When the door had shut, Jehan sank down into the chair and cried.

Montparnasse never came home.

Jehan had fallen asleep fitfully in the armchair waiting, and was shocked to find Montparnasse still on his knees in the church the next day.

The poet knelt down next to him.

“Have you spoken to anyone?” Jehan whispered.

“The priest offered, but I turned him away,” Montparnasse said. “The less people who know, the better.”

“You know they are under oath to keep secrets,” Jehan explained.

“Plausible deniability,” Montparnasse muttered. “If I could keep you from knowing, I would as well.”

Jehan hummed softly. Montparnasse was holding a rosary, though he was mostly worrying at it rather than actually using it. Jehan wasn’t sure if it was because Montparnasse didn’t know how, or just didn’t want to.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“I’d kneel here for the rest of my life if it would fix things,” Montparnasse admitted. “Though I imagine the rest of Patron-Minette would come looking for their thief at some point and drag me out.”

“Did you plant the tree?” Jehan asked absently, like they were talking about the weather.

“A Hawthorn,” Montparnasse replied.

“Good choice.”

They were silent as the priest passed them. He nodded sagely at Jehan.

“It may be some time before I can bring myself to be anything but cold with you,” Jehan explained patiently. “But I forgive you.”

That broke Montparnasse of his reverence and he turned to face Jehan.

“Because I don’t believe you will ever kill anyone again.”

“Never, _mon dieu_ ,” Montparnasse swore. “If it’s what you wanted, I’d leave it all behind.”

“It’s not about what I want,” Jehan said. “It’s about what’s right.”

“Honestly,” Montparnasse admitted. “I don’t think I could ever do it again. I still feel a little sick.”

Jehan went home, and Montparnasse returned to his apartment.

It was it’s quiet still self. It was no longer haunted, Montparnasse didn’t know how, but he could just tell it wasn’t. But it still didn’t feel right.

Steadily things returned to routine. He got called on jobs, but would hold back from the worst of the fray when things went south. He would see Jehan, but the poet would never visit. He was quiet and sullen.

Until one day Montparnasse came home to Jehan curled up in the armchair around a mug of tea. He turned and smiled softly as Montparnasse entered.

“ _Bonjour, mon démon._ ”

“ _Salut, mon ange.”_

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't absolutely detest me at this point, or just by some miracle made it to the end, you can find me on tumblr at fishandchipsandvinegar.


End file.
